


Of Blackouts And Toy Pirate Money

by kankrisredsweater



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drunkenness, F/M, Fluff, Honestly it's pretty much just fluff, Humanstuck, hangovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kankrisredsweater/pseuds/kankrisredsweater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You self-consciously bring a hand up to cover the marks on your neck. Vriska notices and begins to chuckle again.<br/>“Did I do that?” she asks, swatting your hand away and inspecting the bruises herself. You aren’t sure if she’s being flirty or not. You could never quite tell, mostly because she’s cryptic and you’re oblivious. However, she pulls back and meets your gaze intently.<br/>“No, seriously, did I do that?” she repeats, and she sounds strangely panicky.<br/>“I... don’t know,” you confess. “I was hoping you could tell me.”<br/>Vriska bites her lip and looks down. “I have no idea what happened last night,” she whispers.<br/>--<br/>In which John and Vriska try to find out what happened while they were blackout drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Blackouts And Toy Pirate Money

You awaken to the sound of a slamming door below you. You can literally feel the sound waves pounding against your eardrums, and you groan loudly and dramatically as you burrow deeper beneath the covers.

You have half a mind to go back to sleep, but now that you’ve been rudely jolted from your slumber, you’ve come to the realization that you’re actually terribly uncomfortable. Two or three sweaty strands of hair are falling into your face, tickling your forehead unpleasantly. Your mouth is dry and tastes stale, and you feel like someone is repeatedly driving a hammer into your temples. You don’t even want to _try_ opening your eyes.

You figure you must have gone out again last night. You’ve tried not to make a habit of it, mostly because you hate dealing with the aftermath. You lie there, eyes closed, trying to ignore your splitting headache. It might just be that you’re overheated from sleeping off whatever you drank last night, but the room is really freaking cold. You curl towards the center of the bed, siphoning some heat from the warm body next to yours.

Wait, what the fuck?

Your brain is still fuzzy from hangover and sleep, so it takes you a few moments to realize that there is definitely a person lying next to you in your bed. You freeze and your eyes snap open in surprise. This is a particularly unpleasant experience, since your vision is bleary and the light makes your head throb even worse. You snap them closed again as you carefully feel around for your glasses. You slide on the square frames and steel yourself.

You peek one eye open to find a giant tangle of dark black hair. The figure appears to be female, but she is turned away from you and you can’t see her face. You sigh and roll over, pawing for your phone. It’s eleven o’clock in the morning. You squint against the bright LED light of your phone as you shoot off some messages to Dave, your best bro.

EB: not to alarm you or anything...  
EB: but there is a girl in my bed right now.  
EB: like, an actual girl.  
EB: i do not recall bringing a girl back to my bed.  
EB: now that i am thinking about it, i don’t recall much of anything.  
EB: if you could fill in any gaps, that would be wonderful.

Of course he would know. He was the one who talked you into this in the first place. “College is supposed to be fun,” he said. “Look, man, just do a couple shots and we’ll see where it goes from there,” he said. Well, you wonder how _he’d_ feel if he woke up with a strange girl in bed with him. Actually, you’d rather not think about how he would react in that situation. Your phone buzzes.

TG: congrats egbert  
TG: you got laid  
TG: you went out on my suggestion  
TG: i am therefore taking credit for your success  
TG: you are welcome

You roll your eyes. You don’t want to deal with this right now, not when your head is aching and your stomach is churning and there is a _mystery girl in your bed_. More cautiously this time, you blink the sleep from your eyes.

Nothing in the room is familiar. The wallpaper is beige and gold, matching the terrible paisley comforter on the bed that is _definitely_ not yours. If you had to hazard a guess, you would probably say that you were in a hotel room. This strikes you as incredibly inconvenient for a multitude of reasons. Now that your eyes have somewhat adjusted, you take a deep breath and turn to look at... her.

She is wrapped in the blankets up to her neck. You really hope she’s wearing clothes. Come to think of it, you hope you’re wearing clothes too. You don’t appear to have a shirt on, but the fabric clinging to your thighs suggests boxers. For some reason, this is a little reassuring. You cautiously reach over and brush away the hair that obscures her face.

Your eyes widen with recognition.

You can feel yourself flushing as you grope for your phone and angrily press _2_ on your speed dial. As stealthily as possible, you slide out from under the covers and dart into the bathroom for some privacy. Dave picks up on the third ring.

“Mornin’, princess,” he drawls. He sounds tired, but amused nonetheless.

“Dave, what the hell?” you hiss at him, the noise echoing around the hotel bathroom much more loudly than you would have liked.

“What can I do for you?” Dave asks, though you can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Care to explain to me why I woke up in a random hotel room sharing a bed with _Vriska Serket_?” you demand.

To your surprise, Dave actually laughs. “I can elaborate on one of those three points. I couldn’t tell ya what happened after you crazy kids left, but we ran into her last night, don’t you remember?”

Your stomach drops. You _don’t_ remember. Panic begins to bubble up inside you.

“I, uh, actually...” you stammer.

“...Oh. Oh my god. Did you black out? This is golden. John Egbert, the goodiest of two-shoes, waking up next to someone and having no recollection of any of the events of the previous night? Especially since that someone is _the_ Vriska Serket. How very intriguing. This is some serious _The Hangover_ shit, yo.” Dave sounds rather impressed. You don’t respond; Dave is a little more into the college party scene than you are, and while he’s your best bro, you don’t find your predicament nearly as entertaining as he does.

“What do I do?” you ask, and it comes out a lot more whiny than you had wanted.

“Where are you right now?” Dave asks, unable to keep the glee out of his voice. He’s enjoying himself, the little fucker.

“Uh... hiding in the bathroom,” you confess sheepishly. “She’s still sleeping, I think.”

“Well go wake her up and ask her what she remembers. Maybe she can help. Sorry, man, all I can tell you is that we took some shots in the apartment and then Gamzee picked us up and brought us to Scratch’s,” Dave informs you. You remember that much, at least. Scratch’s was a club downtown that was notoriously lenient about carding, and it definitely helped that almost everyone who worked there knew Dave’s older brother, who spun there on weekends.

“Do you know when I – uh, I mean _we_ – left?” you ask. If you had a timeline to work with you think that would be helpful.

“Sorry, man, I kinda lost track of you. Was doin’ my own thing, you know?” Yeah, you’re not surprised. Dave had likely been putting on his smooth Strider moves, much like he usually does. Dave continues with a chuckle. “Paid off, too. Took home this super feisty chick. Terezi or somethin’. She left ‘fore I woke up, but I got her number, so we cool.”

“Well you’re welcome for letting you have the apartment to yourself, I guess,” you say sarcastically. “I’m gonna go figure my stuff out. Go drink water or something.”

“Yeah, you too, man. Good luck. Keep me posted,” Dave says, and you can actually hear him grinning. You hang up on him and make to leave the bathroom, but not before catching a glimpse of yourself in the lit mirror. Your black hair is rumpled and all over the place, and there are faint lipstick smudges around your mouth and chin that lead down to a series of bruises along your neck and collarbone. You grimace as you drag your fingers lightly over the marks. That’s embarrassing. You drag a hand through your hair to tame it, all while wishing you knew where your shirt and pants were.

After emptying your bladder and gulping down some water, you take a deep breath and push through the door, back into the bedroom. Your eyes linger on her for a brief moment. Vriska Serket... this is certainly interesting, though you don’t think it’s necessarily an unfortunate discovery. The thing is, you and she go way back. You were pretty good friends in elementary school, but she had moved and you fell out of contact. She was forgotten to you, a fond childhood memory tucked away, until you happened to run into her on campus during your freshman year of college. You went out for coffee to catch up, but it was awkward and neither of you could think of anything to say and you didn’t attempt to see each other again. You encountered her on campus a few more times since then, but offered only a small smile and wave, which, to her credit, she always returned.

Dave, of course, thought it was all very hilarious. “C’mon, dude, she got _way_ hot since we all last saw her, give her another chance!” he would prod you anytime you mentioned running into her. “The last time we saw her, we were like nine,” you contradicted, rolling your eyes. “I’m just saying,” Dave would continue, “You gotta get on that.”

You’d sputter and change the subject.

You wonder exactly how the fates could align so that she’d end up next to you in a random hotel room after a night of drinking. You wish you could remember. You know you arrived at Scratch’s and you think you recall the first two or three drinks you bought, but at that point, things began to run together in a melting blur of dance music and strobe lights.

Maybe Vriska has some answers for you.

You sit down on the edge of the bed and carefully nudge her shoulder. After a few moments, she uncurls towards you, releasing her grip on the comforter. She makes a small noise in the back of her throat and stretches, catlike, arching her back and extending her legs so that they poke out from beneath the covers. You raise your eyebrows and blush a little bit, consciously aware of how hard you’re trying not to look. She blinks awake, and her dark blue eyes meet yours.

“Well, this is certainly a plot twist,” Vriska muses, her voice still a little crackly from sleep. “Tell me, John, what are you doing in my bed?”

“I... uh...” you stammer, flushing even darker. God _damn_ , this is uncomfortable. She sits up, and you recognize her soft blue shirt as the one _you_ were wearing when you left your apartment last night. _Oh_.

Vriska rubs at her eyes for a few moments before reaching for a pair of thick-rimmed glasses on the standard-hotel-issue bedside table. While she takes in her surroundings, you sit in silence, waiting for her to say something. Instead, she just starts laughing. You furrow your brows; you fail to see exactly what’s so amusing about this.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, grinning broadly. “This isn’t funny, I know, but to be completely honest, I’m not really sure what else to do at this point.”

“Tell me about it,” you mutter, trying to smile, painfully aware of how awkward you must look. You self-consciously bring a hand up to cover the marks on your neck. Vriska notices and beings to chuckle again.

“Did I do that?” she asks, swatting your hand away and inspecting the bruises herself. You aren’t sure if she’s being flirty or not. You could never quite tell, mostly because she’s cryptic and you’re oblivious. However, she pulls back and meets your gaze intently.

“No, seriously, did I do that?” she repeats, and she sounds strangely panicky.

“I... don’t know,” you confess. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

Vriska bites her lip and looks down. “I have no idea what happened last night,” she whispers. You sigh and swing your legs up onto the bed, leaning back against the headboard. Vriska falls back as well, and a tense silence engulfs the two of you.

“Well, shit, I guess,” she states matter-of-factly, and you murmur in agreement.

Vriska takes a deep breath and turns to look at you. “Here, okay, tell me everything you remember,” she prompts. “Start from the beginning of your night last night.”

You close your eyes.

“Okay. I took some shots, probably rum or something, with Dave back at our place at around ten,” you start.

“Dave Strider?” Vriska asks. You nod, and she grins. “I remember him. He was in our third grade class, right? Scrawny little nuisance of a kid?”

“Yeah,” you recall fondly. “Still kind of a loudmouthed asshole, but dude’s all right.” You don’t tell her that you and Dave only really became friends after she moved away because you were so lonely and he would talk to anyone who instigated a conversation. Vriska coughs, and you take that as a cue to continue.

“Anyway, we got a ride to Scratch’s. Met up with some friends, danced a little bit, bought a few more drinks, and then... nothing,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. “I don’t even remember running into you.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, you were a little crazy when I found you,” Vriska grins.

“Oh god, what was I doing?” you groan loudly as you feel your face heating up.

“Let’s just say that it was karaoke night,” she laughs.

“Oh _no_!” you cry, burying your face in your hands. Vriska is still cackling as she rests a hand on your shoulder reassuringly.

“Don’t worry, I got some people to help pull you down before you made an even bigger fool out of yourself. Didn’t know you were so into power ballads, though. Why do you know all the lyrics to ‘How Do I Live,’ anyway?”

You cringe. _That’s_ embarrassing. You had vowed to never reveal your love for Leann Rimes to anyone. Oh well.

“Anything else? I’m almost afraid to ask,” you say with a small laugh.

“You were very surprised to see me and offered to buy me a drink,” Vriska said fairly.

“How nice of me,” you laugh.

“And, not to be outdone, I offered to buy you one,” she continued.

“Let me guess, we kept buying each other drinks?” you grin.

Vriska nods. “And that’s the last thing _I_ remember,” she concludes. “God, I’m way too competitive for this shit. It’s gonna get me into trouble someday.”

You smile to yourself. Vriska’s always been competitive. She almost got suspended in fourth grade for cussing out a kid during a particularly heated dodgeball match in P.E. Now that you think about it, that kid might have been Dave. You can’t be too sure, though you wouldn’t be surprised.

“Okay, so now that we’ve got that much cleared up, let’s see what we know now,” Vriska continues. You’re more than happy to let her take charge of this; you honestly have no idea where to begin, but she seems to have an idea of what she’s doing. You wonder if this is the first time this has happened to her. For some reason, you don’t particularly like that thought.

“Well, you’re wearing my shirt, for one thing,” you comment, raising your eyebrows slightly. She looks down at herself, and you’re surprised to see her blush a little.

“So I am,” she agrees, and before you can stop her, she shrugs the cotton over her head. You squeak slightly and look away, cheeks burning.

“What are you doing?” you ask incredulously.

“Figured you might want your shirt back,” Vriska says, sounding completely unfazed. Her weight shifts on the bed as she leans over and drapes the shirt over your bare shoulder.

“Well, what about your shirt?” you ask nervously.

“I’m sure it’s here somewhere,” she says airily. “You can turn around, I don’t really care,” she adds.

You turn around, but you squeeze your eyes shut at the same time. “Aren’t you a little worried?” you question. The bedsprings creak and you hear her get up.

“About what?” she responds, and she sounds genuinely confused.

“That we... uh... you know...” _God,_ your face is probably bright red. You’re tongue-tied and bad at words and part of you really hopes you slept with her and part of you _really_ hopes you didn’t sleep with her because you don’t want to make things awkward and oh god you’re overanalyzing _everything_.

“Honestly, I’m not worried. As of right now, I’m going to assume we fucked,” Vriska answers. You’re a little startled at her bluntness. “But we also don’t know the full story, and I don’t like making judgments before I have all the information.”

You mull that over for a moment. You’re not sure how you feel about her assumption. Frankly, it wouldn’t surprise you; you woke up in bed together, and she was wearing your shirt, for christ’s sake. But on the other hand, you sort of feel like you would _know_ if anything had happened. You suppose you’re going to have to follow her lead on this one.

Shyly, you open your eyes. Vriska is peeking through the blinds in your hotel room, presumably trying to figure out your location. Her back is to you, so you let yourself look at her for a little bit. Dave was right, she _did_ get way hot, and you suppose it helps that she’s in her underwear. It matches, dark blue and lacy, and you bite the inside of your lip to keep from making noise. She’s slender and tall, and her black hair cascades down her back like an unruly waterfall.

She turns around and spots you looking.

“Like what you see?” she jokes with a knowing look on her face. You sputter and look away, flushing furiously. _Damn_ it! You pull your shirt over your head, glad that it hides your face for a few seconds.

“All right,” she begins. “From what I can tell, we’re still in town. There’s a McDonalds and a Wendy’s across the street, and a used car dealership next to us. I’m going to guess we’re in the industrial district, which is on the opposite side of town from Scratch’s.”

“So what, we’re maybe twenty minutes from the club?” You ask, daring to look back at her. Her eyes are up _there_ , you scold yourself.

“Yeah, in a car,” Vriska says dubiously. “We need to find out how we got here first.”

“We need to find our clothes first,” you correct, a little embarrassed.

“You have a point,” Vriska concedes. She crouches down on all fours (you pointedly look away) to check under the bed.

“Aha!” she says triumphantly, pulling a wad of cerulean fabric out from beneath the bed. She stands back up, turning it inside out. “Found my dress,” she informs you helpfully as she pulls it back on over her head. It’s unadorned and fairly snug, and even though she’s wearing clothes now, you’re not complaining.

“Now I just need my jeans,” you say. “Did you see them down there?”

Vriska shakes her head. She motions towards the hotel room’s television-stand-slash-dresser. “Maybe it’s in one of those drawers,” she suggests. You hoist yourself off the bed and rummage through the drawers, finding your jeans neatly folded in the bottom right one.

“Well, someone folded my pants. That was thoughtful of them,” you joke as you yank the jeans up your legs, nearly falling over. Your headache has begun to recede, but your balance is still a little off. Vriska seems pretty unaffected for someone who had consumed as much alcohol as she had.

“Aren’t you hung over?” you inquire. Vriska has found her sandals in the closet and is buckling them at the ankles.

“Nope,” she answers. “I don’t really get hangovers.”

“Ugh, I’m jealous,” you grumble, fastening the button of your jeans. “Hangovers are, like, the main reason I don’t drink that often.”

“You hold your liquor pretty well for someone who doesn’t drink that often,” Vriska comments.

“It’s a gift,” you say sardonically. You pull on your socks, which were laid out conveniently next to your jeans, and join Vriska by the closet, where you find your own bright yellow sneakers. You’re glad nothing happened to them; you’ve had them for forever, and it would be a shame to lose them while you were a drunken mess.

“The only thing that seems to be missing is my jacket, but it’s not here,” Vriska informs you, checking under the bed one last time. She doesn’t seem that upset about it, but it’s mid-October and it might be a little chilly outside. You wish you had a sweatshirt or something to lend her.

Vriska’s purse dangles from the doorknob, and she rummages through it to make sure she has everything. She pulls out her phone, a wallet, and a key ring, in addition to a hotel card key and a handful of small plastic coins. You pick up one coin and examine it. It’s shiny and gold-plated and wafer-thin, emblazoned with skull and crossbones. You look up at her and hold up the coin questioningly.

“Toy pirate money?” you ask. Her eyes widen.

“Oh. Um, yeah,” she confirms, picking up another coin.

“Why?” You’re more curious about her reaction than about the presence of the coins in her purse; she seems started and a little embarrassed.

“Oh, it’s nothing, it’s just a dumb thing I used to do with my sister,” she said dismissively.

“No, tell me,” you say earnestly. Vriska’s sister, Aranea, was several years older than her, and you think you might have met her once or twice. You don’t remember much, mostly that she and Vriska didn’t get along very well and that Vriska would complain about her a ton.

“We... god, this sounds so stupid,” Vriska sighs. “We used to play this make believe game where we were pirates. We’d go around and look for treasure and fight evil buccaneers or whatever. We took turns being the captain, but whoever _wasn’t_ the captain would eventually stage a mutiny with our imaginary crew, and we’d always have to walk the plank for our crimes.” She giggled a little bit at the memory. “We didn’t really get along much as kids, but when she went to college, she’d occasionally send me back a pack of these cheap things, just as an inside joke. So sometimes I send her some back. It’s dumb, whatever.”

“That’s adorable,” you say, unable to fight back a smile. Vriska looks up at you a little shyly and swats your arm playfully. You give her back the coins, and she stows them in her purse.

“On the plus side,” she adds, “I know I didn’t have these with me when I went out last night, and I only know one place to get them in town.”

“Where’s that?” you ask.

“They’re one of the cheap prizes at Skaia Arcade,” Vriska grins. You actually laugh out loud. Skaia Arcade has been around forever. Its brightly-colored interior and twinkly xylophone music can make it obnoxious after a while, but it’s perfect for a few hours of entertainment.

“What say we go play some games?” you laugh. You grab your phone off the bed and slide it into your front pocket.

“Sounds like a plan,” Vriska laughs. “Hey, is that yours?” she asks, pointing to something on the bedside table. You recognize it as your wallet.

“Oh, yeah, thanks!” you say, grabbing it. Would have been a shame to forget it. “Let’s make sure I have everything.”

You open your wallet to find all of your credit cards still there, in addition to a five-dollar bill. You are momentarily concerned, until you remember that you used your twenty to pay the fifteen-dollar cover charge at Scratch’s. You also find a crumpled receipt from the bar, and start laughing when you see the total.

“I bought you like eight vodka martinis, how are you not dead?” you ask incredulously.

“I hydrate well,” Vriska laughs. “Oh, what’s the time stamp on the receipt? It might help us ballpark when we left.”

You smooth the receipt out and find _1:34AM_ stamped out in black ink. That makes sense; you estimate that you arrived at Scratch’s at a little past midnight. Vriska rummages through her purse to pull out her own receipt; her time stamp matches yours.

“I’m also not missing any cash, so we didn’t take a taxi here,” she reasons.

“All right. Let’s go check out and then see what we can deduce,” you decide.

“Lead the way!” Vriska grins, ushering you out the door.

You realize that the two of you are the embodiment of a typical walk of shame, wearing clubbing outfits and looking rather tousled. You’re very conscious of the fact that the collar of you shirt does a poor job of hiding the hickeys; you just hope no one notices.

You walk up to the front desk of the hotel, and the employee visibly bites back a grin when she asks if you’re ready to check out. Vriska digs through her purse for the key, and you’re blushing as the employee cocks her eyebrow at your collective appearance. She gives you a wide smile as you turn to leave.

“Subtle, wasn’t she?” Vriska mutters under her breath. You laugh a little uncomfortably.

“Okay. I’m going to guess that we walked here, since neither of us have car keys and neither of us paid cab fare,” Vriska says. You’re about to respond when your stomach growls loudly. You hadn’t really noticed how hungry you were until now.

“Food first, deductive reasoning later,” you announce. “How do you feel about McDonalds? I’ll pay,” you offer.

“How romantic,” Vriska jokes. Your face heats up and you open your mouth to clarify that it’s not a date, but Vriska grabs your hand and you stroll purposefully towards the giant golden arches across the street. You’re on the tail end of the midday rush, but the wait isn’t very long. You order a 20-piece McNugget meal to share, and extra fries.

It’s kind of nice sitting in the cheap plastic purple seat across from Vriska, hilarious overdressed and stuffing your faces with chicken nuggets. You still don’t think you’d classify this as a date, but you don’t mind it. And you definitely don’t complain when you get up to leave and Vriska takes your hand, leading you out the doors and down the sidewalk towards the nearest intersection.

Vriska recognizes one of the roads at the intersection, Prospit Road. She excitedly punches the crosswalk button. “All we have to do is follow Prospit for a while, and we’ll eventually end up at the arcade,” she explains to you. “It’s a few blocks, I think, but it shouldn’t take that long.”

You’re glad Vriska knows where she’s going, because you’re terrible with directions. But you’re content to walk along the sidewalk with her. She’s lucky that the sky is clear and it’s fairly warm for October, but there’s a light breeze and you know she’d be shivering if it were any colder. You’d throw your arm around her shoulders, but she’s almost as tall as you and that would probably be kind of awkward and you’d rather just hold her hand anyway.

You can see the arcade in the distance, and you clench Vriska’s hand excitedly. She responds in kind, smiling up at you. It’s not a teasing or joking grin, but a genuine I’m-happy-to-be-here smile. You wait until she looks away before you let your own smile spread across your face.

You walk into the arcade, the tinny music grating on your ears. You hope you can get this over with quickly, because it is not a hangover-friendly environment.

You are greeted enthusiastically by one of the girls behind the prize counter as soon as you step inside.

“Hey! I remember you! Karkat, look, don’t you remember these guys?” She squeals loudly, nudging her coworker with her elbow. Wow, her voice hurts your head.

“Ow! Jesus, Nepeta, fine, I’m lookin’,” he grumbles, looking over at you and Vriska. His eyebrows raise with recognition.

“Oi. Come back for your coat?” Karkat asks Vriska, holding up a black leather biker jacket. You can’t hold back a laugh; of _course_ Vriska would own a biker jacket.

“Oh. Yeah, uh, thanks,” Vriska says apologetically, taking the jacket from him and shrugging it on. She pulls it off surprisingly well.

“You guys are so funny! I’m glad to see that you came back!” says Nepeta, smiling widely up at you. She can’t be taller than five feet, and even though you don’t think you’re particularly tall, you tower over her.

“Uh, funny how?” You ask, a little disgruntled.

“I dunno, just funny! Laughing and having a good time and all that! You’re pretty bad at skee-ball,” Nepeta adds, jerking her head towards the machines.

“I’m awesome at skee-ball,” you correct her, acting affronted.

“You broke the damn game,” Karkat snaps at you, pointing at the “Out Of Order” sign on the far lane. Vriska begins to snicker and your jaw drops.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you say, apologizing profusely. “Do you want me to pay for it or anything?”

“No, it’s fine!” Nepeta says sweetly. “You just jammed the token slot, that’s all! I think you mistook your girlfriend’s pirate coins for tokens!”

“She’s not my-” you begin, but Karkat cuts you off.

“We’re technically supposed to write it up, but Nep forgot, so you’re off the hook,” he complains. He is clearly disapproving of your shenanigans, but you’re kind of glad that there aren’t any real repercussions.

“Just out of curiosity, what time did we get here?” Vriska asks. Karkat mutters, “I don’t fuckin’ know,” at the same time Nepeta confirms, “I think you guys walked in at about three o’clock in the morning! You were only here for maybe an hour, and then you left!”

You doubt that you went anywhere else between here and the hotel, which only leaves about an hour of time unaccounted for between leaving Scratch’s and coming here. This is a little bit reassuring.

Vriska excuses herself to go to the bathroom, leaving you alone with Karkat and Nepeta. As soon as Vriska is out of earshot, Nepeta beckons you closer.

“So I don’t want to be nosy,” she begins.

“Bullshit,” Karkat fake-coughs. Nepeta kicks him and continues.

“I don’t want to be nosy, but I couldn’t help but hear that she is _not_ your girlfriend?” Nepeta inquires.

“Yeah, that’s right,” you confirm, scratching awkwardly at the back of your neck.

“I might be out of place in saying so, but I can tell that she likes you a lot,” Nepeta said.

“She was drunk,” you say doubtfully. “And I was drunk. It’s complicated, I don’t know.”

“Not just last night, I can tell right now, too. You don’t see how she looks at you when she doesn’t think you’re paying attention. Most people don’t notice that kind of thing. But I do,” Nepeta giggles.

“That’s because you’re a creep,” Karkat says under his breath. Nepeta kicks him again and he yelps.

“Ignore him, he’s bitter and cynical,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Regardless, it’s pretty obvious to me that you like her a lot too. And before you tell me that you were drunk last night or whatever, just remember that you’re still listening to me, which means you’re at least open to the idea. Am I wrong?” Her bright green eyes are a little too knowing.

“...Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you admit.

“In my completely unprofessional opinion, I think you should go for it,” Nepeta finishes with a satisfied smile.

“I’ll... uh... I’ll think about it,” you say. Luckily for you, Vriska comes back from the bathroom and rescues you.

“Shall we?” she asks, eyes twinkling.

“Yeah, let’s go,” you agree. Vriska thanks Karkat for her coat and turns to leave. Nepeta gives you a hearty wink before you follow Vriska out the door. When you catch up with her, she takes your hand again. As you leave, you can distinctly hear Karkat sigh, “Christ, Nep, don’t you _ever_ mind your own business?” You give a small smile.

Vriska notices.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” she asks, nudging your shoulder lightly with hers.

“Nothin’,” you say airily. “I’m just happy.”

“I am too,” Vriska says lightly. A comfortable silence falls. You think about what Nepeta said about Vriska. Curiously, you glace sideways at her out of your peripheral vision. She does seem happy. She’s relaxed, not like that awkward time you went out to coffee on that semi-date during freshman year. Back then, there were so many pressures and so many expectations, and now that you think about it, that’s probably why nothing ended up happening. But now, it just seems so easy. A small smile rests on Vriska’s lips, and you feel something like fondness blossom in your chest. You stroke her hand lightly with your thumb and watch the corners of her mouth twitch upwards. A faint blush creeps up her neck. Wow, that’s adorable. You look away before she can catch you.

Vriska’s phone begins to ring. She pulls it out of her purse and answers.

“Yeah? ...yeah, no, I’m fine. I’m still downtown. ...no, I’m with someone. ...uh, can we talk about this later? ...okay, thanks. Yeah, I’ll talk to you later. ...yeah, bye.” Vriska hangs up and slips the phone into her jacket pocket.

“That was my friend Meenah,” Vriska explains in response to your inquiring expression. “She went to Scratch’s with me last night and didn’t see me leave and wanted to know where I was.”

“I notice you didn’t mention me,” you tease, poking her lightly in the arm.

“You don’t know her,” Vriska retorts, sticking her tongue out childishly.

You smile broadly and continue to walk. You decide to take a shortcut through Derse Park; it’s a nice day and you’re in a good mood and a walk through the park just seems like a really good idea. The path leads you past a set of playground equipment swarming with children. You and Vriska both make identical faces of disdain at each other – kids aren’t really your forte – and continue along the path.

You pass a homeless guy sitting on a bench. He’s beginning to bald, but his brown hair is long and scraggly and he’s wearing a dirty wifebeater.

“Hey! Hey, lovebirds!” he calls in a Southern accent. You stop and point at yourself and Vriska with a questioning look.

“Yeah! You two! Remember me?” he asks loudly. You stare at Vriska, wide-eyed. She shakes her head a little bit, looking just as alarmed as you feel.

“It’s me, Nic! Though I won’ be surprised if ya don’ remember, y’all were pretty out of it,” the homeless man continues. “All followin’ me around and askin’ me for a picture.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m fairly certain we didn’t do that,” Vriska says warily. This guy is _crazy_. You grab Vriska’s hand a little more tightly and shift so that you’re standing a little in front of her.

“I got proof, darlin’, just check your phone,” the guy insists in Vriska’s direction. She narrows her eyes and doesn’t look away from him as she feels around in her pocket for her phone and pulls up her photo gallery.

To your shock, she bursts out laughing.

“Wait, what?” you ask. The homeless guy’s face lights up.

“L-look,” Vriska tells you, choking on her laughter. Tears are clinging to her eyelashes and she hands you the phone.

Your mouth drops. There are over fifty very dumb, _very_ drunk selfies in her album, almost all of them featuring the two of you and this homeless man. There are a few pictures of just you and Vriska, and it occurs to you that they might actually be pretty cute if you weren’t both so obviously hammered, but the majority of them feature this strange balding man.

“I don’t understand,” you say, laughing in spite of yourself.

“You sent someone a text, I remember,” the homeless guy says to you. “Was a lil’ past two thirty in the mornin’, why don’tcha check?”

“I gotta see this,” you mutter, pulling your phone from your pocket. Who did you text at two thirty in the morning?

Rose.

Awesome.

You brace yourself.

EB: Rrose.  
EB: yoauw wil nevera guessx whjo w emet.  
EB: nic.  
EB: ccage.  


TT: I have no doubt that you did.  
TT: I require photographic evidence.

Below her response is a blurry phone-camera photo of the homeless guy.  


TT: Oh, John. That is incredible.

Her response is hilariously sarcastic. You show the exchange to Vriska and not-Nic-Cage. Vriska nearly collapses laughing. Once she collects herself, she turns to not-Nic.

“Could I get one more picture with you? Just for old time’s sake?” she asks him. He agrees, and you snap their picture. She thanks him, and the two of you bid him good day.

“Why did we think he was Nic Cage?” she asks you as you walk away, hands still entwined.

“Cameron Poe. Con Air,” you explain, shaking your head at your own silly antics.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you as a Cage fan,” Vriska smirks, nudging you in the ribs.

“Wouldn’t have pegged _you_ as a Cage fan,” you retort, and she snickers and nuzzles closer to you.

You continue to walk. You don’t talk much, but surprisingly, you find you don’t need to. You sort of wish she’d let you know what she was thinking, but your mind keeps drifting back to what Nepeta said. _She likes you a lot_. There’s no denying it at this point, you like her a lot too.

“Do you really think we slept together last night?” You blurt the words before you’re even aware that you’ve thought them.

Vriska thinks for a moment before replying.

“You know, when I woke up, I was pretty convinced that we did, and I told you as much,” she says. “But now, I’m not so sure. For one thing, it must have been about five in the morning when we finally got that room.”

“You weren’t too tired to do this,” you grin, tilting your head to show off the bruises on your neck.

Vriska laughs a little shyly. “I suppose not. Although, to be honest, it doesn’t really matter to me.”

You make a questioning noise in the back of your throat.

“I’m serious, it doesn’t,” she says earnestly, looking up at you. “If we did, we don’t remember it. If we didn’t, we also don’t remember it. Either way, it wouldn’t have meant anything.”

You wince a little bit. You don’t really want to admit how much that one hurt.

“People hook up. It’s a thing that happens. I’ve drunkenly slept with my fair share of guys, I’ll bet you have too,” Vriska continues.

“Well, girls, but yeah, I suppose you’re right,” you clarify.

“You know what I meant,” Vriska smiles. “Anyway, if we’d just left this morning, it wouldn’t have meant anything. I probably would have just assumed that we did it, I’d have gone home and told a few people about it, and we never would have spoken about it again.”

You sort of wish she’d shut up. You don’t like this conversation very much. But she keeps talking.

“But today has been surprisingly fun. It’s like working together to find clues and follow treasure maps and, I dunno, piratey things,” Vriska confesses, blushing deeply. You’re a little surprised at the turn this conversation has taken.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is this,” she says, taking a deep breath. “I think... if we slept together now... it... would mean something. Not that I want to sleep with you right now. Not that I don’t! Ugh, why is this so hard?” she laments.

“No, no, I think I’m following,” you assure her. “Basically, it wouldn’t have meant anything back then, but after spending time together today, you think we could do it again and actually remember it this time and have it be important or something?”

“Yeah, I think that’s the gist of it,” Vriska laughs. “I’m not pressuring you or anything. Today was the most fun I’ve had with a guy in a really long time, and I would be up for another day like today in a heartbeat.”

“Yeah, I would too,” you say, and it’s not a lie. You realize that you’ve left the park and you can see the neon sign of Scratch’s across the street.

“Is your car here?” you ask as you cross the street.

“Close,” she grins, leading you over to a huge black Harley-Davidson.

“You have a _motorcycle_? Goddamn,” you exhale a laugh.

“Need a ride home?” she chuckles, patting the backseat of her bike affectionately.

“Do I trust your driving?” you joke, and she swats your arm. You duck out of the way, and when she leans for you again, you capture her around the waist and pull her to you.

“I had a great time today,” you tell her honestly. She smiles and leans forward, kissing you softly and chastely.

“I did too,” she murmurs against your lips. You linger for a few moments before pulling away.

“So how about that ride home?” you ask lightly.

“You got it,” she laughs.

As you’re speeding toward your apartment, you try too hard not to think about the events of today. You know that Dave will be waiting. He’ll also probably want to know _everything that happened_ after you left the club. You don’t think you’ll tell him. Let him stew in his own curiosity. You smirk a little bit and cling a little tighter to the woman who is currently threading a giant motorcycle artfully through traffic. You’re surprised at how gracefully she pilots this thing, but it’s a pleasant surprise.

You kiss her goodbye and she kisses you back. As you walk back into the apartment and nonchalantly nod at Dave, who is in fact waiting for information, you smile slightly to yourself. You’ve just had the best day that you’ve had in a long time, and nothing can bring you down.

**Author's Note:**

> So one of my friends and I decided to start a thing where we write one fanfiction a week. Here is my contribution for this week. I don't really ship Johnvris, but I like how this one turned out.


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